


Neighbours

by Tonight_At_Noon



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Just a lil something, may be kinda cute, nothing special, regardless please enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonight_At_Noon/pseuds/Tonight_At_Noon
Summary: Darcy's key breaks as she tries unlocking her apartment door. The only person around to help is her probably-not-a-murderer-but-you-never-know neighbour.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Comments: 6
Kudos: 150





	Neighbours

**Author's Note:**

> Trying to get back into this whole writing thing now that the world feels like it's ending. Sorry it's short. Sorry it's also not the best. But enjoy, as always!

The elevator is out of service again - third time this month - and Darcy rolls her eyes, making her way to the staircase, preparing herself for the long climb to the eighth floor. Readjusting her heavy bag, its straps digging deep into her exposed shoulders, she begins her ascent. Behind her, the door to the apartment building opens. She looks behind her, briefly, long enough to see her neighbour across the hall enter. She whips her head back around, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach.

Her heels click on the stairs, the noise soon joined by the clacking of a pair of oxfords. Darcy forces herself to be calm. The man is harmless. Probably. Sure, his hair is weirdly long, and his beard is unkempt. He's got a false arm. She's never seen him smile. His inky black eyes, whenever they meet hers in the laundry room, are always squinted as if he can't decide if she's worth murdering. Not that he's a murderer. That is a stupid idea planted in her mind by Jane, and she refuses to entertain it.

But there is something off about him. Like maybe he likes squashing bugs.

Darcy is swallowing pants by the time she makes it to her door, creepy neighbour right behind her. They haven't exchanged a word, and Darcy grips her key tight to make sure it stays that way. 

One more look over her shoulder. He's staring at her. Darcy turns away, heart pounding, and jams her key into the lock. She twists her wrist. Once. Twice.

The key snaps. Loudly. Metal tearing apart, grinding against her ears. Darcy's eyes expand and she lifts her fist. Half of the key comes with it. The other half...

"Oh my god." Disbelief clouds her senses. She's seen this happen in movies, but she didn't think it was possible to actually snap a key in the lock. "What the  _ fuck _ ! Are you fucking kidding me? This is bullshit. Fuck you!" she cries, throwing the remainder of the key at the door. It bounces off, smacking her in the chest before dropping with a clang to the floor.

Laughter.

Someone is  _ laughing _ .

Darcy turns around and sure enough, Mr. Beard is laughing. At her. Prick. It's only fitting that the first time she sees him smile it's while he laughs at her.

"What?" she says, throwing her arms up. Her back aches from the heavy bag weighing her down, but she refuses to wince. "What's so fucking hilarious?"

He shakes his head. His hair falls around his face and for a second, the briefest second, she imagines lunging at him and jabbing the jagged key into his eye.

Maybe she's the murderer.

Darcy waits for him to calm down, her anger and frustration simmering pleasantly within her. When he does finally get a grip on himself, she's surprised by the first words out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, his mouth still pulled to the side, "it isn't funny. Well, it is. But I don't mean to laugh at you. I just don't think I've ever heard someone so small swear so much."

Darcy frowns. Not the first time someone has told her that. "So the maniacal laughter had nothing to do with the key?"

"Maniacal?"

"Oh, come on. You sounded like the fucking Joker."

"Which one?"

"Which one?"

"Yeah, which Joker?"

"Is there more than one?" she asks tiredly.

He's laughing again. Softer this time, thankfully. "Yes."

"Okay, well, whatever. You sounded like a killer clown, no relation to any comic book villain."

"I said I was sorry," he emphasises, tucking his hair behind his ear. Instinctively, Darcy mirrors the action. "Sorry, Darcy. Really."

"How do you know my name?" she asks, another shot of fear spiking her blood.

"What? We've lived across the hall from each other for two years," he says by way of explanation. Then he pauses. "Do you not know my name?"

The fear is quickly replaced by inexplicable guilt.

Darcy has never been good at making friends. She's too charismatic. It turns people off. She also doesn't like people a lot of the time, so she's never minded being a lone wolf. But she forgets that not everyone is like her. Aloof and isolated.

Maybe the reason this guy never smiled at her before is because of her, not him.

"Um..." she mumbles, scratching her cheek, searching her memory for any possible hint.

Nothing.

"Bucky," he says, and with that he holds out his good hand. And shame-filled Darcy takes it.

His skin is warm. Calloused. She wonders what he does for a living. Wonders if he plays guitar.

"Bucky," she repeats. Up close, he doesn't look nearly as scary. He's almost handsome. And his eyes aren't black. No, they're blue. Like an angry ocean. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Darcy." He drops his hand, leaving her cold, and nods his head towards his door. "I know a locksmith. I'll give him a call. You can wait in my apartment, if you like. Unless you'd rather sit out here?"

"No, I'll wait with you," she says, smiling.

He, Bucky, smiles back at her. 


End file.
